Happier
by centibabe
Summary: When Agent Stern is attacked by an abomination, Barclay has little choice but to help him. As they begin to grow closer, problems only increase for the rest of the lodge. A Sternclay fic, The Adventure Zone Amnesty.


Recently, Barclay and Agent Stern had become something close to - bordering on - flirting with friends. They could never really be friends, at least not on Barclay's end - every time the man so much as said his name he jumped, and every word he said to him was monitored, contained. But there was room for discomfort on Stern's end, too. After all, he was on the job - he wasn't here to buddy up with the cook from some middle-of-nowhere hotel. So they were sort of friends… but not _exactly._

That morning, in the glowing golden light of Amnesty Lodge, Stern created the only noise that wasn't the distant sound of birds, bubbling coffee, and sizzling eggs that Barclay was making for himself. It was the shuffle of a folder being thrown onto the table, and a swear whispered with all the intensity of a knife piercing through fabric. The man had come into the Lodge perfectly composed, as the FBI is expected to be, brown hair coiffed, figure upright. It didn't take a genius to deduce that this was a facade for him, perhaps more so than it was for other agents. Now his hair was coming loose and he pulled off his sunglasses in one fluid motion, harshly rubbing his hazel eyes. Barclay saw through the window to the kitchen this display, and, finishing his eggs slid them onto a plate. They were close enough to being friends that he could ask him what was the matter - Stern had done so for him several times, and he had returned the favor before. But he did so cautiously - still somewhat… well, stern.

"Something wrong over there?" Barclay asked, absentmindedly seasoning his eggs. Agent Stern could answer loudly and openly - no one was in the lobby this early.

"Oh, no, I just…" Stern answered, and then pursed his lips. "It just seems like the well's running a bit dry for me lately, that's all. Ever since Edmund Chicaine's video I haven't gotten my hand on another piece of evidence."

Barclay swallowed, his uncomfortable position made all the more clear. "What exactly were you expecting to find?" he asked him.

Stern looked different from how Barclay ever saw him, in that light. His sunglasses, which he was rarely seen without except this early in the morning, were still in his hand, revealing all the unbridled expression in his hazel eyes. Compared to how he normally looked it almost gave him a clownish nature. He stared at the ground with his eyebrows raised, and for the first time he looked older than he was instead of younger, and… unenthusiastic. "I don't know," he finally confessed, and then buried his face in his hands again.

_Then what are you still doing here, _Barclay wanted to say, and he wanted to make his tone sharp, wanted to make it hurt. But he didn't - being mean never had been his strong suit. "Tell you what," he said, "Have you had breakfast yet?"  
"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I've already got the pan hot and I've already made the bacon, it's no trouble at all," Barclay assured him. Agent Stern looked up towards the window to the kitchen and nodded.

"Thanks," he said, and rolled his shoulders forward, wincing as though they ached. Barclay cracked another egg over the pan.

"How do you like 'em?" he asked.

"Scrambled would be great," he admitted.

"Comin' up." Within what seemed like seconds he was rolling them out of the pan and onto another plate which he pulled out of the cabinet and scooped some bacon onto. Making breakfast for a human government agent, he thought to himself sardonically. Of all the places he thought he could be in ten years…

A plate in each hand he came out of the kitchen, hair still somewhat disheveled from the morning, and placed one in front of Stern, struggling just for a moment to make room between all the papers and files. They were covered in pictures of… well, him, or at least something like him - an unsettling sight to say the least. But he kept the expression on his face neutral, and kept his eyes on Stern instead.

"Thank you - thank you," Stern repeated. He seemed for a moment to try to come up with something witty, and upon failing, he simply started eating. He creased his eyebrows. "That's really good," he told him.

"Thanks," Barclay said, with some manner of pride in his voice - food was one of the few things he really did understand about humans. He adjusted his posture - now was his chance. Some little words of influence, some subliminal messages to get him to go _away. _Then maybe he could sleep at night again, and take off his goddamn bracelet every once in a while. "If I can ask…" he began, "If the well's run dry, what are you doing staying in Kepler so long. I'm sure the FBI has, you know, helicopters and secret bases, and things like that."

Stern, leaning back in his chair, openly laughed at that. He then attempted to regain some composure, adjusting his lapels. "Yeah, our division is a little what you'd call 'underfunded'," he confessed, "They hardly like me staying out here at all, and I'm on my own money."

"You are?" Barclay asked, surprised. With a raise of his eyebrows, Agent Stern nodded.

"Oh yeah," he said, "That's why I would love to find something because I can't go back empty handed but I can't go… bankrupt either." Irritably he flipped a folder closed, as if it was the paper which had wronged him.

"I'm sure they'd be alright if you don't find anything, I mean… bigfoot, he's… very elusive. I hear," Barclay stumbled, and Agent Stern didn't seem to notice the awkwardness of what he'd said. He didn't answer for a moment, staring down at the table. Bit by bit he started collecting all his papers and putting them back in the folder, and while he was at it, he put his sunglasses on, too.

"Well," he said coolly, "We'll see about that." And he didn't seem to be all that interested in talking about it further. He then took in a sharp breath, and let it out. "It's nice, though," he said, "Of all the middle of nowhere Virginia towns to get stuck in…"

Barclay couldn't argue with that one, no matter how he tried to think of a way he could. So he simply said, the honesty clear in his voice, "This is a good town."  
Agent Stern looked at him as if he were startled, and Barclay realized he had probably been expecting a more offhanded comment. Upon seeing that Barclay was looking back at him, Stern looked down again.

"What about you?" he asked, "If you don't mind me asking."

"What about me… what?"  
"Well what… lead you to this little town, this little inn and everything?"  
Barclay swallowed, smiling at the ground as his chest rose uncomfortably. "Are you investigating me, Agent Stern?" he half-joked.

Agent Stern didn't take this as lightly as Barclay had expected, seeming quickly defensive of his inquiry. He raised both his hands, "No, I'm not, I promise, I'm not," he insisted.

Barclay gritted his teeth. "You're getting bacon grease on your formal investigation," he said.

"Oh - shit," Agent Stern answered, effectively distracted. Luckily, he didn't have to lie. As he absentmindedly lifted his fork to his mouth the oil was dripping off and leaving massive splotches all over his folder, ones big enough to undoubtedly seep through to everything else. Agent Stern attempted to wipe them off, as if it would do anything, and Barclay couldn't help but smile at the sight. Agent Stern caught a glance of him, and smiled back - a toothy, crooked, midwestern looking smile. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up," he chided. "Not like this is important FBI work or anything."

"Mm," Barclay agreed, incapable of mustering a fake laugh. Maybe it'll be irreparable, he hoped stupidly. Maybe his life would be saved due to bacon grease. That, of course, was foolish - at least, not without a whole lot more bacon.

Agent Stern, after sorting himself out, let out a sharp breath. He moved his folder to the side, and positioned his breakfast right in front of him. Barclay eyed the folder. "Can I see that?" he asked.

Stern didn't answer instantly, a bite of scrambled egg in his mouth. Even behind his sunglasses, it was clear that he was fighting something in his head, his mouth scrunching up with conflict. "I mean, it is… classified, so I can't really let you do that."  
"You just told me the well had run dry," he argued.

"Alright, fine, I'll just show you one, though," Agent Stern said, and then reached over the table more like an excited middle schooler than a trained FBI agent. He opened it and shuffled for a moment through papers, before sliding a black and white image across the table interrogation style. Barclay laughed - not out of amusement or even out of self defense, but out of solid nervousness, bubbling up out of his chest outside of his control. It was a picture of him, alright - it may as well have been a mirror. Stern's smile fell.

"What?" he asked.

"It's just… that doesn't look fake to you?" Barclay went on, trying to save himself. He forced a smile to match the laugh, despite the fact that his true disposition was deeply disturbed at what he was seeing. Stern scowled, looking more hurt than one would have expected.

"It isn't fake," he said, as if it were fact, and snatched the picture back, stuffing it away in the folder. "It's from Chicane's video, which has been hyper analyzed for seams of a costume, computer editing, and any sound effect that's basically ever been recorded. Nothing matches up - it's real."

Barclay grimaced - really, he should have gone on discouraging him. But again, there was that being mean thing. "If you say so," he said kindly.

"Yeah, well, I do say so," Stern muttered bitterly to himself and put the folder on the table. He then shook his head, and straightened his back, folding a lock of hair over his ear. "I'm sorry, I'm being very unprofessional, I shouldn't even have showed you that…"

"Hey, I mean, we all have our days, right?" Barclay asked relatably.

"Yeah…" Agent Stern agreed with a tired smile, nodding slowly. And then, with nothing else to say, he repeated it in a whisper. "Yeah…" he said again. He then hit his thighs with his hands and went on, "Well. Thank you for breakfast," he said.

"Oh, it's… no problem," Barclay assured him, waving his hand and shaking his head. Swiftly he took his empty plate and stacked it on top of his own, putting both forks atop them both. Agent Stern thanked him again softly.

"Well," he said, "I've got a lot of work today. Thinking about checking out the forest tonight, do you know any good trails?"  
"Tonight?" Barclay asked, and the smile fell swiftly from his face. Yesterday was the day another abomination was scheduled, and Mama, Duck, Aubrey and Ned still hadn't seen head nor tail of it. Chances were there was something still in there. Of course, his worry transferred to Stern before he could even register forming it in his face.

"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked.

Barclay shook his head, his lips pursing. "Nope!" he lied, "Just supposed to be cold tonight, that's all."  
"I think I can handle a little cold," Stern said, standing up from his seat and adjusting his blazer. Barclay followed suit.

"Yeah," he laughed uncomfortably. He didn't want Stern there, that was for sure - but he didn't want him dead. He seemed to be a reasonable enough man in his own life, he just stood for danger when it came to Barclay. If the abomination really was still in that forest, he wouldn't stand a chance. He had to do _something. _"Just… keep in mind. There's a lot of… bears out there."  
Stern took his turn to laugh at something, raising his eyebrows over his sunglasses. "Bears?" he asked.

"Just… trust me on this one. You have a gun, don't you?"  
"Yeah."

Barclay gestured to himself. "Lifelong Virginian," he told him, "Bring it."

Stern scoffed, but part of him seemed to take his advice. "If you say so," he said. Barclay nodded, forcing a smile.

"Well," Stern went on, "Have a good one, Barclay."

"You too, Agent Stern."

Agent Stern looked up at him, startled by that for a moment. Words made their way to his tongue and stopped short, indecision pulsing clear through his eyes as they turned to the ground. Deciding not to correct him he simply nodded, and walked back to his room. Barclay stood in the wide open space, letting out a breath he felt he had been holding since the beginning of the interaction.

Barclay kept an eye open for Stern that day, glancing time and time again at the hallway to his room, and to the doors outside. Sure enough, just before sunset he locked his door behind him, a flashlight in his hand and a gun strapped almost invisibly to his side under his jacket. At least he was armed, Barclay thought. He'd be fine - after all, what were the chances of an abomination attacking the only human out in the forest, alone, at night, with no knowledge of Keplar?

Barclay grimaced to himself, knowing the answer to that full well. Before he even made the decision of what he was going to, he felt as though the decision was made. In a way, he knew himself well enough that there was never much of a decision at all, and that infuriated him. But there was no point fighting it now - he would follow a ways behind Stern, keep an eye out for him and make sure he didn't die. Cursing himself for being such a damned good person, he threw on a coat and waited for him to get a long enough headstart.

Stern began to know that he had gone out too late when the sun set within minutes of his leaving - but he wasn't afraid of the dark. At least, he told himself that. But there was a difference between the dark in your room at night with walls around you and the dark in the Monongahela forests. The trees grew taller, came alive, eyes poked out of the bushes and the ground made noises you couldn't explain. Within just a little ways of Amnesty Lodge Stern's gun was drawn, his flashlight pointed, and his neck tingling. Barclay lost sight of him quickly - after all, if he was close enough to be seen then Stern would see him back. How exactly he would know, then, what danger looked like he didn't know - he could only hope that his instincts hadn't lost their touch.

A little ways away from Amnesty Lodge, the forest around Stern made a noise, as forests often did. But Agent Stern knew about forests, and this noise was louder, heavier, deeper - it was an animal, close to him, and bold enough not to run away. Instantly, his hand holding the gun crossed over his hand holding the flashlight and he pointed them both at the source of the sound, in typical FBI fashion. And in front of him was… something. It was hunched over, with clear signs of fur poking out on its silhouette, but that was all he could see of it. It was several yards away, and very big, bigger than a bear really. Bigger than anything he could think of. He swallowed, reminding himself to thank the helpful cook for the advice. Slowly, he began to step backwards. Forests weren't how they were in the movies - you didn't just step on one twig and the monster caught sight of you, every move you made was lumbering, loud, the mark of a creature that didn't belong. The animal knew where he stood by where he breathed, before he even turned back. And then, it stood up. Stern hadn't even assumed that it was kneeling.

The being, previously a little over seven feet in height, straightened up to what must have been twelve feet. It exposed long legs that looked like they belonged to a goat more than a bear, and clawed arms that hung too low to its sides. Then, it opened its eyes. There were dozens of them - glowing yellow all over its body. It swelled with malice, and Stern let out a shaky breath, stumbling back a bit faster.

"Alright, now you… just stay there," he said to it, "Can you understand what I'm saying? Do you know English, do you speak?" Quickly he was comfortable talking to it, more so than most. After all, he imagined the scenario a lot. The animal, however, did not react like he wanted it to - it didn't react at all. "I don't want to hurt you," he promised.

As he finished that sentence, the animal bounded. Left with nothing else to do Stern emptied the clip of his gun, the gunshots ringing out through the forest, echoing off the trees. The creature didn't seem to notice. His gun emptied Stern threw it aside and fell backwards, attempting to slide backwards as quickly as he could through the leaves and twigs. Before he knew it the moonlight was shining off a set of razor sharp white teeth and with a searing pain they were sinking deep into the flesh of his leg. He screamed loud enough that all of Keplar could hear.

What exactly happened next was a bit of a blur. He knew that the creature had been knocked to the side and attacked, and that someone, _something _had done it. At this point his head was spinning and the pain and blood loss combined were threatening to knock him out. But he kept his eyes open, and saw that the creature on top of the one that attacked him was… bigfoot.

His hands shaking almost too violently to find his pocket, he managed to pull out his phone and start recording, his breath louder in the microphone than anything he was actually filming. His arms ached just to hold the phone upwards as the two of them brawled, the great ape attempting to pin down the larger creature. Efficiently he dodged its slashes and bites, seeming almost well trained, and kicked it as hard as it could in one of its orange eyes. It cried out, more in anger than in pain, it seemed, and lumbered back off between the trees. This left the bigfoot standing alone, its chest rising. It stood truly massive, perhaps eight feet tall, matted fur falling all around it. It looked at Agent Stern, right at him… and at that point his hands, holding the phone began to dip and the world began to go blurry. His head hit the tree behind him with a thud, as he looked down at his leg, absolutely covered in blood. The next time he looked up, the other creature had gone as well. He shivered violently with cold, the shakes running straight through to his core, and the pain making him feel sick. He was going to die, he knew it - the remaining panic he held was enough to keep him awake, to keep his heart racing whatever blood was left around his body. He had to get back. He couldn't die now. His hand shaking he slid his phone, now bloody, back into his pocket. Using whatever strength he could, he pulled his good leg under him, and tried to slide up against the tree behind him. Remaining still was hard, but moving was agonizing. He cried out into the woods again, covered in sweat.

Before he could recognize who had come to him a pair of large hands had fallen on his shoulders, and he cried out in fear, panting rapidly. It was too dark to wear his sunglasses out, so he could see well enough in the dark. But his vision was blurring, failing. It took a muffled voice to tell him who it was.

"Stern, it's me, it's Barclay, it's okay, it's me, it's me," he said rapidly.

"Barclay…" Stern whispered, as if trying to remember. When he spoke, his jaw shook, his body sliding slowly back down the tree as his effort failed. "S-somethin' got me, I don' think I can… Can make it back."

"Nonsense, you're just fine," Barclay promised him. Effortlessly he scooped him up into his arms, and Stern groaned loudly. As he rushed through the dark forest back to Amnesty Lodge by memory, he prompted his memory, keeping him talking. "What was it that got you, a bear?" he asked, trying to make his tone almost casual.

"Something else, it…" Stern answered, "Huge, hundred eyes."  
"Oh yeah? How'd you escape it?" Stern didn't answer at first, his head nodding off. "Stern!"

His head snapped back. "T'was… t'was bigfoot, I… I saw'im… her, them… you can… cannever assume…"  
"That's right, you can never assume," Barclay agreed, "What did they look like Stern, tell me about them?" Amnesty Lodge came into sight, and Barclay bolted for the door to the basement, not thinking.

"Looked at me… it… looked at me," Stern mumbled.

"Okay, that's great, tell me more," Barclay said. Stern's words degraded into mumbles as Barclay broke into the basement, the warm air and the soft light breaking onto his human face. He hurried him into the infirmary, laying him down on the table. He shook violently there, looking around, terrified. He had stopped talking now, far too preoccupied. Constantly he tried to accommodate for hyperventilation and constantly he failed, creating a strange and unpredictable rhythm of breath that was a mix of panic breaking through and memories of training for situations something like this. Without any warning, Barlay attempted to stop the bleeding, finding a cloth and putting pressure. Agent Stern cried out, doubling over.

"Sorry!" Barclay hissed, but after a few seconds he was, after all, successful. The bleeding finally slowed to a stop and in a swift movement he grabbed a bandage from one of the shelves behind him and started bandaging it up. Stern made one last uncomfortable noise, gripping the sides of the table he was.

"It's okay, you're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine," Barlcay insisted, and it was more an assurance to himself than it was to Agent Stern. It was only just now sinking in that he had just seen him and recorded him in his true form, _and _that he was now in the secret basement he was _absolutely not allowed into. _Mama wouldn't be happy about this, Barlcay thought as he finished wrapping it - but if he thought about that now, he'd screw something up, and one mistake from here meant the man had little chance of survival.

When he was done, he looked to Agent Stern. He could give him this - while he may have come off as the joke of the FBI, a sort of nerdy version of a real government agent, he certainly had the toughness of his role. There he was, still awake, eyes still open, focusing on the rate of his breathing and slowly bringing it back to something steady. His face was pale and covered in sweat and his whole body was still shaking - but the fact that he hadn't passed out from the fear alone, to say nothing to the pain, was an impressive feat. "How we doing?" he asked, perhaps stupidly. "You okay, you holding it together?"  
Stern nodded intently, his breathing getting more steady by the second, his knuckles still white where he held the table.

"Alright, I'm… gonna see if I can find a painkiller, I'm still here," Barclay told him, and then went into the materials Duck had built up here. Stern nodded again, unwilling to argue. This was a disaster, Barclay thought as he hunted through pill bottles. The more he thought about it, the worse it was. He was only just now recalling that human practice when one gets mortally wounded is to call an ambulance and bring them to a hospital - out of his own fear of being discovered he had completely forgotten hospitals existed. And what kind of Lodge had a secret medical room in the basement? How was he going to get Stern out here without him seeing Thacker, and everything else. He swore incessantly in his head as he found something he remembered to help with pain and took a pill out of it. He put it firmly into Stern's hand. "Take this," he instructed. Stern didn't question him, taking it quickly. Barclay hoped it wouldn't hurt him - human medicine was extremely complicated.

"Alright…" Barclay said to himself. Really, what would be best would be to move him now, before he was really conscious enough to remember much of what was around him - but if he moved him now, he would start bleeding again, and he couldn't lose anymore blood. Really he needed stitches, but he didn't know anything about those. The wound he had was deep and ugly, something he didn't have any idea how to deal with. He had managed to stitch up long cuts or scrapes before, but this was a bite from something with massive fangs. Two massive cones of flesh had been damaged and taken out - where did he even go from there? He couldn't let him bleed anymore, that was for sure. Unsure of what else to do he took his hand, and Stern looked up at him, pain still clear in his face. "It's over now, okay? You're doing fine, you did great," he encouraged.

Stern swallowed, and nodded again, seeming either unable or unwilling to talk.

"I bet that hurts something fierce, doesn't it?" Barclay asked. Stern shut his eyes tight and nodded again. In a bout of sympathy Barclay sighed and ran a hand along his hair, soaking wet. This gentle touch seemed to push the regularity of Stern's breathing over the edge, and he sank finally into a slow, normal rhythm, his chest consistently rising and falling and some, if not nearly all, of the tension leaving his body. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, the shaking slowly leaving him. Swallowing, he prepared himself to speak, and when he did his voice was scratchy and pained.

"My phone," he said, "In my pocket."

Barclay's chest froze. He hoped at least he'd forget about it for a minute or two, at least while he was in pain. But nevertheless, he withdrew his phone from his pocket. It was scratched, and there were lines of dried blood across the screen, but unfortunately, altogether fine.

Stern went on. "Code is three-four-two-one."  
Barclay gave him a look, and then unlocked it.

"Should… be a video… proof… of what got me…" he said, through quiet groans, "Is it there?"  
Barclay opened up his pictures. It was there - it was several minutes long, and on the front picture of it was him, wrestling the abomination. You have to be mean sometimes, Barclay he told himself, or you won't be safe. With a few swift movements, he deleted it, and then deleted it from the garbage as well, making it look like he was looking for it. "I'm sorry," he said, "No, there's… no video. You must have been too out of it, forgot to press record."  
It hurt to see the excitement drain so efficiently from Stern's eyes. He didn't swear, but he let out a sharp, defeated breath that had the tone of one. "Damn…" he whispered to himself.

"Hey, you're walking proof," Barclay reminded him, "You look like you've been bitten by a T-Rex, nobody can just ignore that." Why he was encouraging him, despite the fact that it was a bad idea, he didn't know. He just looked so upset about it. Shortly after, his eyes lit up.

"You're right…" he said, "I need a… saliva sample." He began to make the preliminary movements towards sitting up, before Barclay pushed him back down.

"No, you are not unwrapping that thing," Barclay insisted, "Do that and you'll bleed out, and I will not have that on my conscience."  
These words are what prompted Stern's memory, his eyebrows creasing as he attempted to put something together. Whatever it was, it made Barclay's heart race. "Hold on…" Stern said, "You… found me," he said, "You… went out… for me, you… saved me," he said.

That part was technically true - and luckily, he didn't seem to know anything more than that. He shrugged bashfully.

"You said I'm… walking proof," Stern went on, "You saw it."  
_Fuck, _Barclay swore to himself. "I… never said that," he told him, "But I saw your leg, and, well… I don't have any idea _what _could've done it." Stern didn't answer that, and Barclay knew that, however dangerous it was, he'd never have a better chance. "I have to move you," he said. Stern groaned out an objection. "You're gonna be fine, it's not far. We're gonna get you someplace more comfortable than this, okay? Some place you can rest."  
Stern, with a dreading wince, nodded. He hissed as Barclay found a place for his arms underneath him, picking him up bridal style. He groaned at the change in gravity, and Barclay winced. He walked as quickly as he could through the basement, hoping he would see as little as possible down here in the dim light. He then hurried up the stairs and into the main part of Amnesty Lodge, and then, unsure of where else to go, to his own bedroom. He had a larger room, mainly because he spent so long here, and a larger bed due to his natural size. Plenty of room to set Stern down on. He objected lightly to being set down. Now a bit more lucid, he evaluated his surroundings.

"You're very strong," he said, growing more comfortable talking by the second. "You carried me back?"  
Barclay shrugged. "You're not that heavy," he justified.

"Modest, too," Stern answered, "You saved my life."  
Barclay had nothing to offer that but yet another shrug. "Oh, well, it's not like I fought whatever it was off or anything," he said ironically, "I just carried you home."  
Stern paused for a moment, evaluating his face. "Still," he said. Barclay found that Stern's hazel eyes were fixed on him a bit more intensely than he cared for, and he forced a smile.

"I've got someone I need to talk to," he said, "I won't be far off. Get some rest."  
Stern looked for a moment like he wanted to object, but he resisted it - he was a government agent, after all, he should be able to be alone like this. Barclay then turned and stepped out of the room, leaving him there, only for a moment.


End file.
